


The Weekend

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: The Ambush series [5]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-25 23:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14389773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Strike and Robin on a weekend away in Cornwall with the Herberts. No plot to speak of, just relationship development, fluff and smut.





	1. Cornwall

“Corm, will you sit down!” laughed Ilsa. “She’s not going to arrive any sooner just because you keep getting up to look out of the window!”

Strike rolled his eyes and tried not to glare at her. “Going out for a smoke,” he muttered, as though that had been his plan all along and he hadn’t just been ten minutes ago. He stomped outside, aware that he was being a grumpy bugger, as Robin would say, but unable to stop himself.

His weekend had not started well. He and Robin had been looking forward to this long weekend away with Nick and Ilsa. They had planned work so that they could leave the office for the early part of next week, but on this last Monday Robin’s father had been admitted to hospital with a suspected heart attack. Linda had rung in tears, and Robin had said she would go up. So she dashed off, upset but collected as always, to throw a hold-all of clothes in the Land Rover and begin the long drive to Masham, and Strike had stayed behind and had to double his workload to get everything done.

By Wednesday, after a battery of tests, Michael Ellacott had been diagnosed with a stomach ulcer rather than a heart attack, and he was discharged home on Thursday. Robin wanted to stay and see him settled, she told Strike on the phone, so they agreed she would drive directly to Cornwall on the Saturday and he would get a lift with Nick and Ilsa, a journey he had not enjoyed despite the good company, his large frame wedged uncomfortably in the back of their car, unwilling to usurp Ilsa from the front.

Robin had left early that morning, but it was gone three o’clock now and he was starting to worry. Nick had insisted on leaving early too, but they had had a shorter journey in a better vehicle, and had arrived just before lunch. It was a long, long drive from Masham, and the Land Rover was slow, but still Robin should be here by now, he thought. He had missed her desperately too, surprising himself, having been largely independent all his adult life. The bed in his flat felt empty, the office too quiet. He hadn’t realised how much he enjoyed all their little interactions throughout the day until she was gone. Minor discoveries on cases, snippets of information, weren’t so satisfying without her there to tell. He missed her smile, the cups of tea that appeared on his desk at regular intervals. He just missed her. They had had a long week of surveillance the week before she went, with Strike trailing round after Redhead half the night as she went from club to club, trying to catch her in the act of cheating on her rich and suspicious husband, who was paying very well for the late night hours. Robin had held the fort at the office in the mornings while he slept and spent her afternoons pretending to temp for Corporate Guy, fishing around in the email system to try to work out who was leaking company secrets to the opposition. They had barely seen each other, Robin going home each night to sleep in the flat she shared with Angela so as not to disturb him in the mornings. He felt like he hadn’t seen her properly in a month.

Just as he was grinding out the stub of his cigarette and mentally rehearsing his apology to Ilsa, Strike saw the familiar, battered shape of the Land Rover coming up the lane, and his heart lurched with relief and joy. Robin pulled onto the drive next to Nick’s Honda and unfolded herself from behind the wheel. She looked drawn and exhausted, her pale face lined with tension.

“Hi,” Strike said softly, enfolding her in a hug, and she sank against him and sighed deeply. He breathed the scent of her hair, felt her arms around him, felt complete.

“God, what a journey,” she said. “Don’t try to drive into Cornwall on a Saturday afternoon in May. The A30 was rammed, I’ve practically queued since Okehampton. Oh, it’s good to see you, stranger.” She turned her head up and kissed him, then buried her face in his jumper, nuzzling into his chest. “I really, really need a wee and a cup of tea, and possibly even a nap.”

Strike grabbed her hold-all from the back of the Land Rover and took her inside. “Ah, thank goodness!” cried Ilsa. “I was getting worried. I’ll put the kettle on, you look like you could use a cuppa.”

“I really could, thank you,” said Robin, heading straight off to find the loo.

Strike smiled ruefully at Ilsa. “Sorry for being a grumpy git, as usual,” he mumbled a little shamefacedly. She smiled at him.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Glad she’s here, I was getting a bit concerned too. Long drive, she looks exhausted. Nick, have a hunt and see if you can find any takeaway menus, I don’t know if Robin will be up for the pub tonight.” Nick obediently started rummaging in drawers in the quaint little kitchen.

...

Ilsa managed to get her to drink a cup of tea, but the tension of the week worrying about her dad and the exhaustion of the long drive were taking their toll on Robin. So Ilsa shooed the men out to the pub with instructions to bring back a takeaway at seven and sent Robin to bed. Strike would much rather have gone to bed with Robin, but Ilsa glared at him as he procrastinated over going and ordered him out of the cottage. “Robin needs to sleep,” she said firmly. “Like, actual sleep. Off with you.”

“Come on, Oggy, mate, no use arguing with my wife in this mode,” said Nick, and they strolled up the lane to the village pub.

Ilsa gently woke Robin after a couple of hours, and after another cup of tea Robin started to feel more human. “Sorry about that,” she said, “I was just exhausted. Long week, long drive.”

“Can you face a glass of wine yet?” asked Ilsa, producing a bottle from the fridge, and Robin grinned. “Most definitely!” she said.

Soon they heard the stamp of boots outside, Strike’s familiar uneven tread and Nick’s lighter one, and the men appeared with bags of fish and chips. Strike was delighted to see Robin up and about and looking more herself. Looking very sexy, in fact, he thought, with rumpled hair and sleepy eyes. He wondered if he would ever get over marvelling that this beautiful woman wanted to be with him. He grinned at her, and her answering smile lit up her face.

“Is that smile for me or the chips?” he asked, dropping a kiss on her head, and she laughed.

“Both, of course!”

Nick turned to Ilsa. “Your dad’s in the pub, with Ted,” he said. “They wanted to know if we fancied a drink later, they’ll round up your mum and Joan if so. I wasn’t sure, so I said we’d ring them.”

“Sounds lovely,” said Robin. “I’m feeling miles better.”

“Great,” said Nick. “I’ll go ring them now and tell them we’ll be back in an hour or so. I might have to go back up the hill a bit to get mobile reception, hang on.” He went back out of the door and they could see him waving his mobile in the air outside the kitchen window.

Ilsa was rummaging in cupboards, looking for plates. Strike sat down next to Robin at the table. “I have to confess I’m a little disappointed you’re feeling so much better,” he murmured. “I was rather hoping just to come and get into bed with you. You look quite edible.”

Robin flushed. “Well, save that thought for the chips just now,” she said, primly, and he laughed softly.

Ilsa was still banging cupboard doors. “Where are the rest of the glasses?” she muttered. “Hang on, there was another cupboard in the living room.” She wandered off.

Strike took the opportunity of a moment alone to kiss Robin, quickly but fiercely. “God, I missed you,” he muttered against her mouth, his hands coming up to run through her hair. She leaned in to him, sighing. “I missed you, too,” she said. His lips parted and his tongue sought hers, and tired though she was, she felt the spark of arousal he always lit in her. Her tongue pushed forward to meet his, but Strike broke off abruptly as Ilsa bustled back in with more wine glasses.

“Cut it out, you two,” she said, grinning. “Save it for later.” Robin blushed again but Strike just winked. “What’s the minimum amount of time we can politely spend in the pub?” He wondered aloud, and Robin giggled.

 

 


	2. The Pub

Food and a glass of wine revived Robin, along with her earlier nap, and she finally felt relaxed after a long and difficult week. Strolling up the lane hand in hand with Strike ahead of Ilsa and Nick, the smell of salt on the air and the sound of the sea in the distance, she felt happier than she had in longer than she could remember.

The village pub was heaving with people. There was a noisy darts match going on in a side room. They pushed their way in and queued at the bar. It took a while to get drinks, which they carried out to the beer garden to find Strike’s aunt and uncle and Ilsa’s parents. Jovial greetings all round eased Robin’s twinge of shyness. She had met Ted and Joan before when they had come up to London, but she had only been Strike’s assistant then, just a polite hello when they called in to the office to see where he worked. She assumed he must have told them that she and he were now an item - he’d hardly bring a work colleague on a weekend away in the country - and indeed Joan greeted her warmly and kissed her cheek, squeezing Robin’s hand to let her know that not only did they know, they also approved. This made Robin happy. Strike talked fondly of his aunt and uncle and his life in Cornwall, and she wanted people here to like her.

They pushed two picnic tables together and crowded round them in the evening sunshine, and Robin smiled at Strike manoeuvring to make sure he was next to her. Then she wondered if this had been a good plan as he pressed his big, strong thigh to hers and winked at her just slightly from the corner of his eye. The cheekiness of his look and the warmth of her second glass of wine in her stomach combined to make her body even more responsive to him than normal. How long had it been, she wondered, since they had last had sex? She hadn’t seen him for nearly a week, and he had spent the previous weekend tailing Redhead and sleeping, while she stayed at her flat doing searches on her laptop, catching up on laundry and food shopping. Then before that she had had her period... They had been going to spend last Monday night together, but she had had to dash off to Masham. She was startled to realise it was almost a fortnight, and they had been spending a lot of time in bed, still only a few weeks into their relationship.

Strike grinned at her, seeing her calculating look. “It’s twelve days,” he murmured, and she flushed at the realisation that she had been so transparent, “but it feels more like a month. God, I can’t wait to be alone with you.” The hunger in his eyes lit a fire in her groin, the familiar sweet ache of arousal that only he could satisfy so thoroughly. She hurriedly dragged her eyes from his, turning to join the conversation, but she couldn’t resist dropping her hand to his leg under the table, sliding her fingers to his inner thigh. He jumped as though she had burned him, and she smiled, satisfied that she was having the same effect on him, and then Joan asked her about the cottage and she began to describe it.

There must have been a break in the darts, or perhaps it had finished, for the rowdy group spilled out into the pub garden in the dimming evening, chatting, lighting up cigarettes. One of the group shouted Strike’s name, and he looked up. “Oh, it’s some of our old school gang,” cried Ilsa. “Look, Corm, there’s Becca and Louise, and isn’t that Gavin who shouted? Come on!” She jumped up and dragged him over to the group. Nick caught Robin’s eye.

“I swear, this happens every time we come down,” he said. “It’s like this is the only pub in Cornwall or something.”

“No, just the best,” said Ted, happily. Robin watched as the group surrounded Strike and Ilsa, greetings exchanged, hugs for the women, shoulders clapped for the men. She watched, amused, as Becca or Louise threw a tipsy arm around Strike’s shoulder and pulled his head down to kiss his cheek, and he extricated himself as tactfully as possible. Her hand lingered on his arm. Robin looked away, and caught Nick’s glance, but she wasn’t at all jealous, she realised. Women liked Strike, she knew that, but she also knew that he could handle such situations, and she knew he only had eyes for her these days. She grinned at Nick, and he nodded and rolled his eyes at Becca-or-Louise.

“I think we might make a move,” Helen, Isla’s mum, said. “It’s getting late. We’ll see you for dinner tomorrow night, Nick?” He nodded. “We’ll be there,” he promised. Helen got up and headed over to the group to say goodbye to Ilsa.

“We should get going, too,” said Joan. “Robin, will you and Cormoran give us a call tomorrow and we’ll arrange to meet? Come on, Ted,” and after a long round of goodbyes, the older couples left.

“You get used to this,” said Nick, “coming down here. Ilsa always bumps into someone she knows. It’s ace, actually, that so many have stayed local or visit loads. When we go to my parents’, I hardly ever see anyone I know.”

“When I’m at home I still spend most of my time terrified I’m going to bump into Matthew and Sarah,” Robin said with a laugh. “Although I have to say, I care about that less these days.”

Nick smiled. “I’m glad,” he said. “I’m so glad you two are together, Robin. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Oggy this happy. He’s just... different, around you. Less closed up.”

Robin was delighted. “I’m glad too,” she said. “I’m besotted with him, Nick, I really am. I’m a hopeless case.” She smiled dreamily, and Nick laughed.

“I think it’s safe to say that’s totally reciprocated,” he said. “I keep catching him looking at you when he thinks no one will notice, and he has this goofy look on his face. He’s smitten all right.”

The group by the door drifted over to their table and introductions were made. Strike’s hand lingered possessively on Robin’s shoulder, earning her an appraising look from Louise, it turned out to be, who had been so demonstrative with him and whose orbit he was now carefully avoiding. Nick had met most of them before, it seemed, and Gavin sat down next to him, asking him how work was going. Strike claimed the spot next to Robin again. He put an arm across her shoulders, making it quite clear that they were together without even glancing towards Louise, and joined in the conversation. The others declared intentions of fetching another round of drinks and went back inside, Louise casting a glance back at Strike that he studiously ignored.

 


	3. Ilsa

The evening was cooling rapidly as the light faded, the breeze coming in off the sea chilly, and Robin pressed herself closer to Strike’s warmth, shivering a little, glad he was there and wishing she hadn’t left her chunky jumper at the cottage. His arm slid down around her waist, pulling her closer, his hand lingering at the curve of her hip, his thumb stroking her lower back under her shirt, his fingers splayed over the stretch of her leggings across her hip. It was the lightest of touches, but her body, starved of his for so long, reacted to him immediately. She shivered again, sensing that he knew this time the cold wasn’t to blame, and he grinned down at her, distracted for a moment from the conversation and wishing he could kiss her.

“Ugh, get a room, guys,” Gavin said, and Nick snorted.

“They’ve got one,” he said, “and unfortunately it’s right next to ours!” The men all laughed and Robin glared round at them and stood up, as much to remove herself from the temptation of Strike’s hands as anything else.

“Boys are so uncouth,” she said disdainfully. “I’m going to find Ilsa.” She marched away, pretending an air of annoyance she did not feel, the men still laughing.

It took several minutes to find her. She wasn’t at the bar after all, or in the loos. Robin eventually tracked her down outside, at the back of the beer garden where it looked down over the village and the beach, soft lights twinkling on the waves.

“Admiring the view?” she asked, coming to stand next to her friend. “It’s beautiful here, I’m not surprised you and Cormoran love it so much.” Ilsa didn’t answer immediately, and Robin glanced at her and suddenly saw the glint of tears in her eyes. She put a hand on Ilsa’s arm. “You okay?” she asked gently.

Ilsa dashed the tears away. Robin could see from her gesture she’d rather have hidden them altogether. “I’m fine,” she managed, knowing that Robin didn’t believe her. There was a pause. Robin tucked her arm though Ilsa’s, and suddenly more tears flooded her friend’s eyes. “Shit,” Ilsa muttered. “Don’t let Nick see me.”

“This way,” Robin pulled her down the side of the pub to where a bench sat against the wall, positioned to look out over the sea. They were hidden from the beer garden here. “Ilsa, what is it?”

Ilsa was crying properly now, and Robin put an arm around her shoulders, worried. There wasn’t much she could do except wait for her friend to regain her composure. She wished she hadn’t left her handbag, in which she had tissues, at the table. Almost as soon as the the thought entered her mind, Strike appeared round the corner. She tried to wave him away silently, but he appeared to have grasped the situation, stepping quietly across the grass to pass her her bag and then disappearing again without comment. A few moments later she heard his deep voice challenging Nick and Gavin to a game of pool. The men’s voices faded as they went inside, and not for the first time, Robin was grateful for Strike’s insight and tact. She fished a tissue from her bag and passed it to Ilsa, who was managing to stop the tears now.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Robin hugged her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, gently.

Ilsa sighed. “Not much to say,” she said. “I don’t suppose Corm has told you, he’s the only one who knows. Nick and I have been trying to get pregnant for... over three years now,” she said miserably, “and it just isn’t happening. Every time we come down, I know my mum is desperately hoping that this is it, that we’re here to make a happy announcement, and every time she’s disappointed. She never says so, but I saw the look in her eyes when she saw my glass of wine. She must have really got her hopes up this time, thinking we had sent the boys to the pub while we stayed back and drank tea.” She was crying again. “She just looked so... let down,” she sobbed. She took a deep, shuddering breath. Robin sighed, her heart aching for her friend, and hugged her harder.

“There isn’t anything wrong,” Ilsa continued. “We’ve been for the tests, scans and sperm counts and all that, they say there’s no reason we shouldn’t conceive and we just have to be patient. But I’m already thirty-six.”

“Sorry,” she added, her mouth twisting into a smile shape, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I get a bit maudlin about it when I’ve had a few glasses of wine and we’re down here. I know we just have to wait. It’s just I don’t really have anyone to talk to in London, my colleagues are all blokes and most of my old friends have kids now and we’ve sort of drifted. I haven’t told Mum because I don’t want millions of questions and old wives’ tales type advice. I know Nick has talked to Corm about it, and I’m glad he’s got someone to confide in. It upsets him, seeing me upset and not being able to fix it.”

“Well, I’m here if you ever want to talk,” said Robin, stoutly. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this, I had no idea. You’re right, Cormoran wouldn’t breathe a word about someone else’s troubles.” It makes me love him all the more, she thought, his integrity, his loyalty to his friends.

“Anyway,” said Ilsa, starting to sound more like her normal self again. “Like I said, I just feel a bit sorry for myself sometimes, and have a bit of a cry, which I try to hide from Nick so I don’t drag him down too. Onwards and upwards!” She squared her shoulders determinedly. “Thanks, Robin,” she added, smiling again now.

“Anytime,” Robin said. “I mean it.” They stood. “I think the men are playing pool,” she said. “I’m actually a bit cold, and I don’t think I want another glass of wine, do you?” Ilsa shook her head. “Let’s go see if they’ve finished their game,” Robin added. “See if they mind heading back.”

Ilsa giggled suddenly. “I don’t get the impression Corm will mind at all,” she said, and Robin laughed. “I don’t think so either.”

 

 


	4. The Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning...

They all strolled back to the cottage. Strike had his arm around Robin, feeling her curves against him, very much looking forward to taking her to bed. “Ilsa all right?” He asked in a low voice, watching his old friends ahead of them.

Robin sighed. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m sad for her, though. She hides it well.”

“She does,” Strike agreed. “She often has a mini meltdown when we come down here, though. It brings it closer, I think.”

“So you were half expecting that, that’s why you brought me my bag?” Robin asked.

“Yeah, I’d seen her wander off, and was hoping you’d spot her before Nick did,” Strike said. “I’m glad she’s talked to you, I don’t think she’s got anyone she confides in in London.”

“You, Cormoran Strike, are a very perceptive man,” Robin said. “Have you thought about becoming a detective?”

He grinned at her. “Now why would I want to do that, when I could just spend all my time in bed with you?” he asked.

...

“I don’t suppose anyone wants coffee?” Nick asked, casting a sly grin at Strike as they all trooped into the little kitchen of their cottage. Robin blushed but Strike was shameless. “Nope!” he said. “I’m going to sweep this woman straight off to bed. I haven’t seen her in a week,” and he steered her towards the stairs. Robin thought about protesting, but realised there was no point. They all knew what was going to happen as soon as she and Strike were alone, and she didn’t want to wait any longer. Her arousal in the pub earlier had never completely dissipated, curling warm in her groin and flaring up whenever she caught Strike’s eye or touched him. His arm around her on the walk home had stoked the flames, and she could hear at the rough edges of his voice that he had had enough of waiting, too.

The moment their bedroom door was closed he was kissing her, frantic and hungry, and desire exploded along every nerve in her body. He pushed her up against the back of the door, hands in her hair, his body pressing against hers. She gasped for air as his mouth left hers and moved across her jaw and down her neck, sucking and biting more than kissing, hot and fierce, moaning a little under his breath. He had never been this forceful with her before and it excited her. Her breathing was ragged, catching in her throat, her hands clutched in his hair as he began to pull impatiently at her shirt buttons, mouth searching for her collarbone. She whimpered, aching for the feel of his hands on her.

Footsteps on the stairs told Robin that Nick and Ilsa were heading to bed too, and in a few moments they would be just the other side of the door she was pressed against. “Shh,” she whispered, holding Strike’s head still. He straightened up silently, breathing hard but quietly, and his hands moved to rest on the door frame either side of her head. Nick and Ilsa had opened their bedroom door but were still moving about, one back and forth to the bathroom, then someone was going back downstairs for something.

Strike and Robin held still and quiet, faces inches apart, breathing heavily, eyes locked together. His thigh was still between hers, pressing against her, her skin tingling from the scrape of his stubble and teeth, lips swollen from his fierce kisses. Robin didn’t think she had ever been so aroused in her life. She could see the beads of sweat at his temples, feel his ragged breath hot against her cheek. His eyes were so dark with desire they were almost black, just inches from hers. She longed to kiss him but didn’t dare, knowing that there would be no stopping if they started again. She dropped her head forward with a tiny moan of need and frustration, gently bumping her forehead to his shoulder and looking back up to his eyes again, an intense ache in her groin.

Strike wasn’t sure how he was managing to hold still. Every nerve was on fire. He could feel her body hot against him, her breasts brushing his chest with each heaving breath she took. Her thighs trembled on either side of his. He hadn’t been with her in so long, and now she was right here but he must hold back. The ache of his erection was excruciating.

“I have never wanted anything as much as I want you right now,” he whispered raggedly. “This is sheer bloody torture, how long does it take a married couple to get ready for bed?”

Robin giggled quietly, then stopped abruptly as his eyes closed and he groaned softly at the movement of her hip against his erection. “Don’t do that,” he breathed, “or I won’t be able to resist you any longer and we’ll really embarrass ourselves.”

“Cormoran,” she whispered, “you know I had a nap earlier?” He nodded. “That bed is really creaky,” she said. “And I mean really creaky. We’re going to have to be inventive if we’re to be quiet.”

“Fuck it, right now the floor will do,” he said. She giggled again and his self-control snapped, just as Nick and Ilsa’s door finally clicked shut along the hall. He pulled her to him roughly, crushing her against his chest as his mouth found hers again, his tongue thrusting into her. Robin grabbed his collar and pulled him down to the floor, a movement that was not easy for him with his prosthesis, so that they half slid and half fell in an ungainly heap. She thought dimly that Nick and Ilsa could not have failed to hear that, but then all thoughts were gone as Strike pressed her down on the floor and tugged frantically at her leggings. She helped him, squirming to one side to pull one leg out of her leggings and knickers, then fumbling desperately with his belt and trousers. She managed to push them down far enough to release him, and he was on her at once, pushing her thighs apart and thrusting into her with a low moan. Robin just had time to remember that she must not cry out, biting down on her lip, and her orgasm exploded, her back arching and her eyes closing as her muscles contracted around him. In a few short thrusts he came as well, pulsing inside her, a single grunt escaping him as he spilled into her, then he collapsed against her, hips still twitching as her body shuddered around him.

For a few moments Strike couldn’t move, lying heavily on Robin, panting raggedly in her ear, then he managed to raise himself onto his elbows to gaze down at her. She lay dazed beneath him, breathing hard.

“Fuck, Robin,” he said, shakily. “That was incredible. And fast,” he added ruefully. She grinned at him, nodding, but couldn’t speak for a moment, still tying to catch her breath.

Strike levered himself off her and smiled down at her. They were still almost fully clothed, his trousers pushed down over his hips and her left leg still in her leggings. His knee hurt, and he had grazed the side of his hand on the edge of the skirting board as they slid down the door and wall. Robin’s lower lip was bleeding and he wasn’t sure which one of them had bitten it. He pulled his trousers back up to his waist and sank back against the wall, still trying to steady his breathing. Robin lay awestruck on the floor. “I can’t move,” she said, shakily, and he smiled at her, his head leaning back on the wall. “I know how you feel.”

The base of Robin’s back was sore where he had thrust her against the wooden floor, and she could taste blood on her lip. She struggled into a sitting position and leaned forward to kiss him, languidly. “That was... amazing,” she whispered. “I didn’t know sex could be like that, so... intense. Can we do that again?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, teasingly. “Well, not right now,” he said, and she giggled. “I mean soon,” she said. “That was...” she ran out of words and just shivered, and he grinned at her, delighted. Then she shivered again, this time from the cold. “Come to bed with me?” she said.

They undressed and climbed into bed together and lay entwined, languorous, kissing and whispering. Robin fell asleep wrapped in Strike’s arms, her head against his chest, listening to the familiar, comforting sound of his snoring, warm and happy.


	5. The Morning After

“Bloody hell, you two,” exclaimed Nick, laughing, shocked. “How on earth did you manage to inflict so much damage on each other so quietly?”

Strike gave a wry grin. Robin was scarlet. It had taken him some minutes to persuade her to come downstairs this morning, she was so embarrassed. “They’ll know!” she had hissed in the quiet of their room as she stood in front of the mirror, trying unsuccessfully to cover the scuffs and bruises on her jaw and neck with make-up, knowing there was nothing she could do about her bottom lip, swollen on one side where one of them had bitten it. Strike himself had a red scrape all down the side of his left hand, grazed raw on the edge of the skirting board as they slid down the wall, and the knee that was sore last night was swollen this morning. “Must have twisted it as we went down,” he said, grimacing with pain as he forced his leg into the prosthesis. He’d managed to get it strapped on, but the stairs were a struggle and his limp pronounced. He wondered if he’d have to find a chemist and purchase a walking stick.

“Yeah, they probably will,” he’d admitted, “but what’s the alternative? We can’t stay in here all weekend, tempting though that is.” He smiled at her. “Come on, we’ll just have to brazen it out together. Wear it like a badge of honour,” he suggested, grinning, and she groaned and buried her flaming face in his jumper. “It was so worth it, though,” he muttered against her hair, and she smiled into his chest.

“They weren’t that quiet,” said Ilsa now. “Didn’t you hear them hit the floor? I assume that’s what that crash was.” Robin gave a strangled squeak of embarrassment and buried her face in her hands, sat at the table.

“Okay, enough already,” said Strike, laughing fondly at her mortification. “Move along, before Robin combusts. What’s for breakfast?”

“I’m guessing a fry-up is in order,” said Nick, still grinning. “You start the coffee, Oggy, I’ll get the bacon on.”

...

“What’s the plan today?” asked Strike around a mouthful of bacon roll.

“Haven’t really got one,” said Ilsa. “We’re going to mum and dad’s tonight, but we’re free today. I was going to suggest a walk, but seeing as you managed to injure your knee between going up to bed last night and this morning,” - she grinned - “we’ll have to think of something else.”

Strike rolled his eyes. “I get the feeling it’ll be a while before I’m allowed to forget this,” he said amiably. “How about we go into St Mawes? You can park me and Nick in a pub, bound to be some footy on of some description, even if it’s only a friendly. You girls can join us or shop or whatever.”

“No rush, then,” said Nick. “Won’t be any footy till this afternoon. I reckon a lazy morning of coffee and the Sunday papers is in order. I’m going to nip up to the shop.” He stood and reached for his coat on the peg by the door.

“I’ll come with you,” said Ilsa. “Want to get a few bits, see if there’s any fresh bread.”

“Don’t hurry back,” said Strike, and Ilsa rolled her eyes.

“Cormoran, what are you like?” she said, catching Robin’s eye and winking. “Come on, Nick, we can go for that walk and let these two get it out of their system.”

The moment they were gone, Strike whisked Robin back upstairs as fast as his knee would allow. She was giggling, embarrassed again, as he scooped her into his arms and pulled her onto the creaky bed with him. “You’re shameless!” she said. “What must they be thinking?”

“Ah, they know I’m only joking,” he said, lying on his side next to her and pulling her closer. “But seeing as they’ve gone, we might as well make the most of it. Besides, Ilsa and I grew up round here, remember? We know every footpath and cave on the beaches and bluffs. I know exactly where she’ll be taking him.” It was his turn to wink, and Robin’s mouth dropped open.

“Cormoran!” she said, shocked. “Did you ever...?”

“Not with Ilsa, no,” he said, grinning. “But let’s just say everyone knew the spots.” He looked at her curiously. “Have you never had sex outside?”

“No,” she said. “I’m not very experienced, you know. That’s partly why I was so nervous of this, of us. I thought I’d seem so... bland, after supermodels and socialites.”

“God, Robin, you are anything but bland.” He leaned forward and kissed her. “I’ve never felt like I did last night in my life. I’ve never lost control like that before.”

“Really?” she asked, shyly.

“Really,” he said. “Are you fishing for compliments, Robin Ellacott?” He grinned. “Because you can have them. We were already having the best sex I’ve ever had, why do you think I can’t keep my hands off you? But last night was... mind-blowing.”

She was pink-cheeked now, delighted at his words. “For me, too,” she said. “But I guess I have less to compare to, so I didn’t know...” She broke off as he kissed her again, and she felt the familiar pull of her body’s response to him.

After the explosiveness of last night, he was so different this morning, sweet and gentle and slow as he had been their first time, weeks ago. He undressed her slowly. Robin shivered and shook as his hands and lips roamed over her body, gentle now, and then she pushed him down onto the bed (still creaking) and explored his body in turn, marvelling again at the way he reacted to her, exploring every inch of him, watching the desire build in his eyes, in the flush of his skin, in his ragged breathing. She lowered herself onto him and made love to him while he whispered words of love in her ear, and afterwards she curled up against his side, blissfully content. Strike slipped into sleep, snoring softly, but Robin lay in the morning light and just breathed him.

...


	6. Coffee

Robin must have dozed, for she woke when she heard voices downstairs. Strike had rolled closer in his sleep, one big arm thrown over her. She smiled at his sleeping face, battered features soft and relaxed next to hers. She gently wriggled out from under him, ignoring his murmured protests. She kissed his cheek, stroking his wild hair, and he mumbled and smiled without opening his eyes, sliding back into slumber.

Robin pulled on her clothes and padded downstairs. The French doors in the small sitting room had been thrown open and Nick and Ilsa were outside at the patio table. She could see at once that Strike had been right about their walk. Ilsa’s hair was just a little too messy for the light breeze to have been the sole culprit, her lips soft, and Nick was stretched out on a chair, head back in the morning sun, dozing with the same blissed out expression Strike was wearing upstairs. She giggled, and Ilsa looked up.

“God, we’re like a bunch of horny teenagers,” Robin said softly, and Ilsa flushed and laughed, rising to follow her to the kitchen. “It’s the sea air,” she said, grinning. “Always does it for us, as you might have heard last night if you weren’t so busy yourselves. I bought croissants, let’s see if we can work out how to get the oven on.”

They busied themselves in quiet companionship, preparing the croissants and finding butter, marmalade. Robin put on a fresh pot of coffee.

“How are you feeling this morning?” she asked, and Ilsa nodded.

“Yeah, okay,” she said. “Thanks for last night, I’ll be all right now. It just brings it home, wishing I was coming back and telling mum and dad they’re going to be grandparents. One day I will.”

Robin smiled at her. “Of course you will,” she said, stoutly. But she could see the tiny doubt Ilsa still held in her heart, its shadow in her eyes.

“And how are you?” Ilsa asked. “We haven’t had a chance to catch up properly for a bit. I’m assuming everything is well with you two, you look blissfully happy.”

“We are,” Robin replied, smiling. They carried their coffees back out to the small garden, skirting around Nick who was now snoring softly in his chair. They sat on a bench by the cottage wall, warm in the sun, the scent of honeysuckle drifting down from where it coiled up the wall above them.

“I’m starting to see a side of Cormoran I would never have dreamed existed,” Robin continued. “Soft and gentle and... Gosh, I want to say romantic, but is that too corny?”

Ilsa smiled. “I’m so glad,” she said. “Give him time, Robin. Charlotte screwed him up good and proper with her lies and hysterics and messing about. He was always a fairly reserved kind of guy, but he just gradually closed up totally over the time he was with her. They’d split up and I’d see flashes of the old Cormoran again, but she always reeled him back in. It’ll take a while for him to uncoil, I think.”

“But now...” she sighed, still smiling. “It’s just good to be getting the old Cormoran back. Good to see him chatting, not... I think he couldn’t say anything right, round her, she would pick on the slightest thing, a wrong tone. He didn’t really say much at all when we saw them, latterly. It was heartbreaking.”

Robin was fascinated at this insight into Strike’s relationship with Charlotte. He never spoke of it, and she had never asked. She wondered, deep down, if she had been a little afraid of the answers, afraid that she might in some way not match up. “Why did he keep going back?” she mused. “What was the pull?”

“I always wondered that,” Ilsa said. “He thought he loved her, and I think maybe he thought he could fix her. She was very needy, clinging to him and begging him not to leave her, when she wasn’t throwing plates at him. I think he just didn’t know what to do with her. And after Afghanistan, and all the months he was in hospital, I guess at first he was kind of reliant on her, she’d insisted he move in and he had nowhere else to go. And he needed to focus on getting well again, all the months of rehab and physio. In many ways it was only the start of his recovery when he got out of hospital, he had to relearn how to live in a non-medicalised world that isn’t built for someone with a disability. It was months and months after he was discharged that they finally fitted him with his new leg and he got a bit of independence back.”

“Gosh, he must have hated that,” said Robin, quietly.

“I think he probably did,” Ilsa said, “but you know him, he never said. He was so thin for so long, though. It was good to see him put some weight back on. And then you came into his life, and he started smiling again.”

“And now...” she grinned at Robin. “He’s more relaxed, happier, now than I’ve seen him in literally years. That’s your influence. You’re good for him.”

Robin smiled. “He’s good for me, too,” she said. “It’s so nice to just be appreciated for being me. Matthew liked me to be a certain way, dress a certain way, wanted me to get the “right” job. He had a very clear idea of what his wife would be like, and I thought I wanted that, too. I tried so hard to fit into it, but it just wasn’t me. And by then I’d started working for Cormoran and I had the chance to grasp my dream career... But of course Matthew thought it was Cormoran I was attracted to, not the work.”

Ilsa glanced at her sideways, slyly. “Well, he wasn’t completely wrong,” she teased.

“No, but he was, at first,” Robin protested. “Really. I mean, not for long, obviously. But it really was about the work, in the beginning, and the way... It’s hard to explain. It was the way Cormoran thinks, the way he analyses, the way he sees the world, sees the details, sees through people to the motives and shadows behind. The frustrated psychologist in me was fascinated. Noticing the rest of him came later. Which I can scarcely believe now,” she grinned.

“So,” she said, turning to face her friend on their bench, a cheeky glint in her eye. “Tell me about this walk, I think I might want to give it a try.”

Ilsa roared with laughter. “I had a feeling Corm would know where we’d gone,” she said, giggling. “Give him a day or two for that knee, it’s pretty steep down to the beach. But if you just drop down to the bottom of the lane here, before it swings back up over the bluff, there’s a footpath leading down to the beach with steps down at the end, then you go left and along the beach a bit and there’s a cave. It’s not deep, but there’s a rock overhanging the entrance so you’re quite hidden from anyone up on the cliff path above. It’s pretty rocky, but there’s a handy ledge on the right you can prop your bum on at just the right height, or the floor is sandy in places.”

“In fact,” she went on, with a wink, “There’s a lay-by further along the road and a viewpoint with proper rock steps with a hand rail down to the same beach. You could leave the Land Rover there.”

“Mm, I shall bear that in mind!” said Robin, giggling.

“What plans are you ladies hatching out there?” Strike’s deep voice floated out from the kitchen, and then he appeared, rumpled and gorgeous in Robin’s favourite of his jumpers, coffee in hand. He looked so sexy, Robin thought, handsome in his own way. She smiled at him demurely.

“I was just asking Ilsa if she and Nick enjoyed their walk,” she said, innocently. “I quite fancy a stroll on the beach myself, when your knee is up to it.”

He looked from one studiously innocent face to the other and laughed. “You’re not fooling anyone, either of you,” he said, grinning. He winked at Robin. “I’ll take you for all the walks you can cope with when this wretched knee settles down,” he said, and Robin wrinkled her nose at him.

“Croissants!” cried Ilsa, suddenly. “Crap, we’ll have burned them.” She hurried off to the kitchen, and Strike lowered himself onto the bench next to Robin.

“God, it’s lovely down here,” he said. “We really should get out of London more often. I haven’t been for so long, didn’t feel the draw, but now I have you to come with me.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m the luckiest man in Cornwall,” he murmured in her ear. “I love you, Robin.” He laid his head on her shoulder, and her heart swelled with tenderness. She kissed his forehead, her arm sliding around him. “I love you, too,” she whispered back, and sighed happily.

Ilsa, about to step out of the kitchen with the slightly over-crisp croissants on a plate, paused a moment to take in the sight. Her old friend, so battered by life both physically and emotionally, was resting quietly, blissfully happy, in Robin’s arms. His eyes were closed in the warm sun. He looked both vulnerable and content, and her heart was filled with affection for him and for the woman who had had such an impact on his life. She saw Robin kiss his forehead, and it felt almost voyeuristic to witness such a moment of tenderness in the life of her reserved friend. She coughed a little as she stepped out onto the patio and moved towards the table with the croissants, not wanting to intrude. Strike’s eyes drifted open and he smiled across at her, but he made no move to leave Robin’s arms, and Ilsa realised she was seeing his true happiness, true relaxation, true trust in this new relationship he and Robin had found. In the warm Cornish sun, it felt like a moment of magic.

...

 

 


	7. Visiting

“Nick, oi!” Strike had scooped up a handful of bits of leaf and twig from the ground next to the bench and was throwing them at his friend. Nick opened one eye and glared at him. “What?” he demanded.

“Croissants, then it’s time to head off,” said Ilsa. “St Mawes this afternoon, remember? If you behave, I’ll buy you an ice cream.”

Croissants eaten, they busied about collecting bags, putting on shoes. Ilsa quietly handed Robin a chiffon scarf as they passed in the hall. “Thought you might want to borrow this,” she murmured, and Robin coloured a little, remembering the bruises on her neck. “Thanks,” she said.

They journeyed down to the town in two cars and parked as close as they could get to their chosen pub. Strike’s knee was easing a little. He was doing his best not to use it. The pub had easy chairs in one corner, and he dropped into one, raised his foot on a stool and declared his intention to stay put for the afternoon. Nick fetched two pints and took the other chair, and Robin and Ilsa set off for the High Street.

“Think they might actually be asleep when we get back?” giggled Robin.

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” said Ilsa. “Nick’s been on a hideous run of shifts. And he can sleep anywhere, I think they must teach that in medical school.”

“Yeah, and the Army, Cormoran can too,” said Robin. “Right, where first?”

“Clothes,” said Ilsa. “There’s a lovely little boutique I always go into when we come down, they have these beautiful dresses.”

An afternoon of shopping and chatting passed happily, and they collected the men from the pub. They bought ice creams on their way back to the car park, and strolled slowly, chatting as they went. Strike’s limp was already less pronounced, his knee settling well after a quiet day. He wondered if he would have to accept slowing down when it flared up rather than pushing himself on on surveillance jobs, back in London.

The couples agreed to meet back at the village pub for last orders, and went their separate ways to family dinners. Robin enjoyed the evening with Joan and Ted. They were obviously very fond of their nephew, and Robin could see that Ted must have been in part the father Strike had never had, growing up. Joan was small and quick, pottering about the kitchen with lively movements and quick chat as she prepared the meal. She asked Robin questions about her work without prying into individual cases, and Robin noted gratefully that Joan was careful not to move into personal topics. She was fairly sure they had known of her marriage to Matthew, but if Joan wondered what had happened there, she didn’t ask. Robin found herself wondering what Strike had told them. The evening passed pleasantly, and at quarter past ten, Strike made their excuses and they drove back across the village, left the Land Rover at the cottage next to the Honda and strolled back up to the pub.

“Your knee looks loads better,” Robin commented.

“Yeah,” Strike acknowledged. “I’m thinking it might be a good idea to rest it when it flares up, after all.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Well, of course it would,” she said, “but I bet you won’t, when we’re busy.”

“Probably not,” he admitted.

Nick and Ilsa were already at the bar and had met up with the same gang from last night. Louise was there again, and Robin had to restrain from rolling her eyes as Strike found himself targeted again. He was polite, but she could see how impatient the attention made him, how it irritated him after he had made it so clear last night that he was unavailable. Robin suddenly wondered if anything had gone on between the two of them, years ago when Strike still lived here. It would explain Louise’s proprietorial behaviour.

Gavin came to Strike’s rescue in the end. “Come on, Lou, let’s have a game of pool,” he said, and practically dragged her away to the other room, earning himself a grateful look from Strike.

“Shall we go?” Strike said. “I’d rather have a quiet beer back at the cottage with you guys than stay here and risk being mauled any more. Have we got any in, Nick?”

“Yeah, there were some in the Tesco delivery,” said Nick.

“Some?” queried Isla, laughing. “There was a tray full, I did wonder how many you guys were planning on getting through this weekend. There’s more wine, too, Robin,” she added.

Robin found herself next to Ilsa on the walk back as the men strolled ahead, discussing the football they had half watched and half dozed through that afternoon.

“What’s the deal with Louise?” she asked quietly. “She seems to feel some kind of ownership of Cormoran. Any story there?”

“Er, a bit,” admitted Ilsa, “but not much, I don’t think. They snogged at a school disco when we were sixteen or seventeen, but I don’t think it went any further. Last I heard she had married a local lad, but that was ages go. I guess that didn’t work out. She surely can’t feel he owes her anything, it was nearly twenty years ago.”

“I can’t imagine what Cormoran was like back then,” said Robin. “Was he... I mean, did he...?” She stopped, but Ilsa had caught her meaning.

“The girls did flutter around him a bit,” she said. “He kind of gained an air of mystery because he kept appearing and disappearing. Leda would drag him and Lucy off after some boyfriend, or to some commune, and then it would all go pear-shaped and Ted would go and fetch them back.”

“And he was good-looking, I guess,” she mused, thinking back. “I never saw him that way. My parents have always been friends with Ted and Joan, and they knew Leda a bit too. I’ve known Cormoran since we were little kids. But one of my friends at secondary school had a huge crush on him. She used to go on about him all the time, it was very boring.” Ilsa laughed, remembering. “I couldn’t see it at all. But he was taller than pretty much all the other boys, and broader. I preferred the skinny ones, like Nick,” she grinned. “I think Cormoran introduced us deliberately, you know. He specifically invited us for their joint 18th, me and another friend.”

Robin smiled, imagining Strike as matchmaker, setting up his new London mate with his old Cornwall friend.

They had reached the cottage. The men selected beers and Ilsa split the last of the previous night’s wine between two glasses. They drifted naturally out to the patio, enjoying the summer night air, chatting. Strike and Nick told stories of their antics in London, a carefree time before Nick immersed himself in medical school and Strike left for the Army.

Robin looked around at Strike’s friends, who were now her friends too, and was so glad they had come on this weekend. She could feel Strike relaxing hour by hour, away from London and work, and she was enjoying getting to know Nick and Ilsa better. And it was also lovely, she thought, to be able to spend concentrated time with Strike, not to always have to switch their relationship off and get into work mode each day. I could get used to this, she thought.

...


	8. Old Friends

Robin didn’t wake until nearly ten the next morning, and was amazed how late it was when she looked at her watch. She was alone in the bed, but she could hear the murmur of voices from the patio, Strike’s deep tones unmistakable.

Ilsa had sent Nick to the shop for more milk for the pot of coffee she had brewed, and determinedly dragged Strike out to the patio chairs. She angled her chair so she could look at him more easily. She was unashamedly intending to take advantage of his relaxation away from London to try to prise information out of him, and had seized her chance. She knew he would see through any attempt to be subtle, so she didn’t bother.

“How are you, Corm?” she asked, directly. He didn’t even try to pretend that he thought she was asking after his physical health. Not sure of the words, he shrugged.

“Good,” he said, and saw from her raised eyebrow that that wouldn’t do. “Well, you know, more than good.” He paused. “What do you want from me?” he asked helplessly, grinning.

“I just want to know that you’re okay,” she said. “That you won’t let what you have with Robin be haunted by the past - yours or hers.”

Strike sighed heavily. “Hers I don’t think is a problem,” he said. “We were friends long enough, we have a level of trust. We discussed it at the start but it’s not been an issue.”

“And yours?”

“I’m getting to grips with that,” Strike said, slowly. “Again, we’ve been friends so long, I was already comfortable around her.”

He paused. “I have to admit,” he added, “it’s odd to me that now we’re together, she still isn’t trying to change me or pressure me. She’s not pushing to get a place together or anything. And she seems able to utterly switch off that side of things at work, which was my biggest worry, that we’d distract each other. But she really is so into the job, it consumes all her interest when we’re there. I didn’t think I’d find a business partner who would care about the work as much as I do, but I have.”

“She really does seem happy just to be the way we are,” he added. “And a part of me is waiting, I think, for that to change. But it doesn’t seem to be.”

“I don’t think it will,” Ilsa assured him. “I don’t think it’s some kind of tactic or anything. I know what you mean, I’ve had friends who’ve done that with guys, playing the long game. But that’s not Robin.”

“No,” he agreed. “And we’ve not really argued yet, but I can’t imagine her chucking crockery at my head like Charlotte,” he laughed.

“No indeed,” Ilsa said. “Oh, Corm, why did you waste so much time and effort on her?”

“I’ve been asking myself that a lot, particularly in the last few weeks,” Strike said. “And...”

He stared into the distance. The pause stretched for so long, Ilsa wondered if he had stopped altogether. But then he abruptly continued.

“I don’t really know, if I’m honest,” he said. “But I think - and I guess this applies to Robin and Matthew, too, I never understood why she went ahead and married him - I think you reach a point where you’ve been trying for so long that to give up somehow wastes all the trying that’s gone before. I assumed we must have something simply because we’d been together so long, and kept coming back to each other. She was in my blood, in my soul, and I thought that was love.”

He paused again. “But it wasn’t, it was more like a puzzle, a case I was trying to solve, where the parameters kept shifting and the rules kept changing. Once I finally stopped trying to solve the puzzle, I realised she wasn’t interesting at all.”

“And by then you’d met Robin,” said Ilsa.

“Yes,” he said, “And looking back, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that her coming to work for me tied in with me finally getting over Charlotte.”

“The day Charlotte got engaged, I went on a drunken bender,” he said, “and Robin rescued me.” He smiled, remembering. “I think there’s a good chance that I would have gone round and raged at Charlotte that night if she hadn’t, and of course that was exactly what Charlotte wanted, a huge messy scene and me and Jago bloody Ross fighting over her. But instead I spent an hour bending Robin’s ear over it, and she just accepted it all and carried right on as normal next day. And she was so naturally good at the job, and so fascinated with what we were doing, it helped me to refocus on the work and shut Charlotte out.”

“And then...” Ilsa teased, delighted to see her friend opening up like this.

“Yeah, and then.” He said. “God, Ilsa, I fought my feelings for her for so long, but it was hopeless from the start. I watched the way her mind worked, the way she looked at cases, the way she read people, her ability to get answers out of them, and I knew I’d met a kindred spirit. I knew she was marrying Matthew, and seemed quite happy to do so, and I didn’t want anything I was feeling clouding our work relationship, so I convinced myself we would always be colleagues and nothing more. I had a glimmer of hope when they split up, and I was so cross when she went back to him.”

He looked a little ashamed. “I think it was part of the reason I sacked her,” he admitted. “Not because she’d gone back to him, but because I cared about her and she’d been so reckless and I was so angry, and I was frustrated that she was wasting her future on him, and afraid he’d persuade her to leave the business, and it all boiled up into this fury. It wasn’t my finest hour.”

“God, who’d have thought I was capable of such introspection,” he added, laughing.

“Me,” said Ilsa at once. “The only difference is you’re talking about it now. You’ve always been honest with yourself. You’re just learning to open up a bit, and that’s Robin’s influence.”

“It is,” he said. “And now...” he paused again and dropped his eyes from his friend’s, suddenly shy. “I love her,” he said, simply. His eyes met Ilsa’s again and hers were full of tears.

“I know, you twit,” she said. “I knew before you did, I think,” and Strike laughed.

“Probably,” he agreed. “Hey, what’s this now?” For Ilsa had leaned forward and thrown her arms round his neck.

“Oh, you big softie,” she laughed through her tears. “I’m so happy for you. You deserve this after all you’ve been though.” Strike grinned and hugged her in return.

“Oi, Oggy, put my wife down,” said Nick mildly, appearing with the coffee pot and milk and mugs on a tray. “Oh, God, have you made her cry, too?”

“No, she did that all by herself,” Strike said, smiling, as Ilsa plonked herself back in her chair and wiped her eyes.

“I did not,” she protested. “That was your fault for being such a soppy git. You know I’m a sucker for a love story.”

“Ah, here’s Robin,” said Nick as he turned back to the kitchen to fetch the biscuits. “You’re just in time for coffee.”

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” said Strike, looking up, and Robin pulled a face at him. “Mushy and romantic doesn’t suit you,” she teased, and bent down to kiss him.

“Seems to be that kind of morning,” said Strike as she straightened up, and Robin looked from his silly smile to Ilsa’s tears and frowned, puzzled.

“What did I miss?” she asked.

“I’ve just had the Spanish Inquisition from Ilsa,” said Strike, grinning, “and she said my answers were soppy.”

Robin smiled, “I can’t imagine what she was asking you about,” she said. “What’s the plan for our last day here, then?”


	9. The Walk

Plans were discussed and rolled around the conversation. Nobody really wanted to do much, with the thought of the return to London and work looming tomorrow. Eventually it was decided that a day of lazing about was in order. Nick found a radio in the living room and tuned it to the Test match, and fed the mains cable through a side window so it could sit on the windowsill. Ilsa fetched her book and a blanket and stretched out on the small lawn to read. Robin made another pot of coffee. As she was measuring out the grounds, Strike came and slid his arms around her from behind, pressing his hips to her bottom. “So I was thinking,” he murmured in her ear, “since we didn’t get around to anything more than a bit of snogging last night, that we might find some time together today. Fancy that walk?”

“Mm, that’s a good idea,” Robin said, enjoying his embrace. He nuzzled her hair aside and kissed her neck below her ear, and she dropped her head back onto his shoulder. She could feel him becoming aroused against her, and she giggled. “Save it for later,” she whispered, and he eased away from her reluctantly.

The temperature rose as the morning went on. Bees buzzed lazily around the honeysuckle. Ilsa dozed on her blanket, read a chapter, dozed some more. Nick listened to the cricket and frowned at the crossword from the previous day’s paper, occasionally reading clues out for the others to solve. Robin sat on the grass near Ilsa and Strike came and lay with his head in her lap. She played idly with his hair, smiling softly when he began to snore gently. She traced the outline of his crooked nose, his heavy brows, and thought her heart might burst with happiness.

The morning was soon gone and they roused themselves to make lunch, finishing up bread and cheese and fruit from the shopping Nick had ordered in. Dishwasher stacked, Strike turned to Robin where she still sat at the table. “Fancy going for a walk?” he asked casually.

She grinned. “I’d love to,” she said.

“That’s a great idea,” said Nick, at the other end of the table. “I could do to stretch my legs after a lazy morning.”

Ilsa turned from the sink, tea towel in hand, caught Strike’s look of horror and burst out laughing. Robin was giggling at the table, and then Strike grinned too.

“What?” Nick demanded, glaring round at them all.

“Oh, Nick,” said Ilsa, giggling helplessly. “We’re staying here. They’re not going for a walk, they’re going for a walk. You know, like we did yesterday morning.”

Nick flushed bright red. “Jesus, is there anything you women don’t tell each other?” he complained. “Why would you tell them about that?”

“I didn’t,” Ilsa said, moving across the room to ruffle his hair and soothe his indignation. “Cormoran knew. Everyone who grew up round here knows that cave.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “You could have mentioned that,” he said.

Strike looked at Ilsa. “Have you not taken him to the old beach hut down at Trevan Point or the boathouse?” he asked, and Nick glared again. “Good God, are they all known shagging places?” he demanded.

“Did you really think we just happened to stumble on them on our walks over the years?” asked Ilsa, giggling again. “Go on, you two. I think I have some making up to my husband to do. Put your hackles down, darling.” And she kissed him.

“Come on,” Strike said to Robin. “Sure you won’t join us, Nick?” Nick, still kissing Ilsa, made a rude gesture at him over her shoulder.

Strike and Robin strolled down the hill, slowly. He was once again thankful for her quiet consideration - without saying anything, she settled into a gentle pace at his side, recognising that the steep downhill grade would be hard work for him even without his knee still being slightly swollen.

She slipped her hand into his. “I’m a bit nervous,” she confessed, and he smiled down at her.

“Let’s just go and look at it and see what you think,” he said. “We can always just genuinely have a walk, and wait till bed for the rest.” She nodded, and they carried on.

“So, I have to ask,” she said. “Have you been to this cave before?”

He looked at her sideways. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Actually, maybe not,” she said, laughing a little, looking away.

“Not in a very long time,” he said. “And not with Charlotte, if that was what you were wondering.” But Robin realised she wasn’t concerned at thoughts of Charlotte. She knew Strike would have history, he was ten years older than her. But her conversations with Ilsa had reinforced her faith in his feelings for her.

They made their way down the footpath and strolled along the beach. Butterflies fluttered in Robin’s chest. His hand was warm in hers, and the sea breeze ruffled his curls, and he smiled down at her with a hint of cheekiness, and she realised that she was more excited than nervous. They reached the cave and he led her inside, ducking his head under the overhanging rock. It was angled into the cliff, not very deep, as Ilsa had warned, but the angle meant that there was very little beach visible from the back. Robin looked around. The floor was indeed sandy in places, and Strike leaned back and rested against the ledge Ilsa had mentioned. She could see he had no intention of starting anything. He was waiting for a cue from her.

She stood in the middle of the cave and looked about her, and at him. The breeze wafted in, drifted about, stirring the air. The waves rolled and receded a few dozen yards away. The smell of salt was all around. And Cormoran Strike leaned there, huge and gorgeous and all hers, relaxed, watching her with love and desire in his eyes. She stepped up to him and reached up to put her arms around his neck and pull his head down to kiss him.

She felt his body respond to her immediately. They kissed for a while, and again Robin sensed that he was going to take it no further without a clear invitation. She could feel that he wanted her, but he simply kissed her and kissed her, and soon, impatient, she began to pull his shirt tails from his trousers so she could slide her hands up inside to his chest and round to his back, pulling him closer.

Strike stepped forward and turned, gently steering her so that her back was to the wall. She could feel the ledge behind her, and hitched herself up onto it. It was slightly higher than she had expected, and deeper, and she realised it was indeed just the right height, bringing her into perfect alignment with him. He kissed her again.

“There’s a foothold somewhere,” he murmured, “for your left foot.” She raised an eyebrow at him, wondering how many times he had been here, and he flushed a little, but she decided to ignore the thought.

“The trick is not to take too many clothes off,” he went on. “There could be people on the beach, though I couldn’t see any.”

He grinned suddenly. “One time I’ll bring you down here at night,” he said, “and we can go skinny dipping. If you time the tide right, the water isn’t far, and it feels warmer after dark.”

Robin shivered. The thought of skinny dipping with Strike was sexy, and she realised that was something she wanted to do. “We need another weekend down here, then,” she said, and he hummed in agreement. His hands slid up under her shirt, and his eyebrows shot up when he reached her breasts. “Robin, where’s your bra?” he asked, surprised and delighted.

“I thought underwear might get in the way,” she grinned at him cheekily. “I’m not wearing any knickers either.” She saw the flare of his pupils at her words, heard his breath catch.

“God, that’s hot,” he muttered. His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. She moaned. “Have you been like that all day?” The thought of her pottering about at the cottage, commando under her clothes, made him feel quite giddy.

She giggled. “No, it’s specifically for this walk,” she said.

“It’s still sexy,” he said, his hands exploring.

Her hands moved to his belt, undoing it and his trousers, reaching inside. He groaned as she caressed him, and rocked forward into her hands. Their lips met again, and then Strike slid his hands around to her back and down, sliding into the back of her leggings and easing them down. He pulled them down until she could get her right leg out. She gasped a little at the cold of the rock ledge against her skin, and then again at the heat of him between her thighs, pressing against her. He pulled her hips to the very edge of the ledge and eased his trousers and boxers down just enough.

He smiled at her tenderly. “Okay?” he asked, and she nodded, her hands on his hips urging him forwards. He groaned as he entered her, and Robin jumped, gasping, at the sliding feel of him. Whether it was the element of danger of being caught, the fresh air on her skin, the angle of her hips on the ledge, or a combination of all three, she didn’t know, but the pleasure deep within her was intense. Her eyes widened in shock.

Strike could see in her face that something was different, heard it in her gasp. Intrigued, he withdrew and slowly thrust again, and she whimpered, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

“What is it?” he whispered, pausing, and she shook her head. “I don’t know,” she managed, “but God, don’t stop, that feels amazing. But go slow, go slow...” she begged. He pulled back and thrust again, and she swore under her breath, shuddering. Strike was fascinated, watching her reaction as he moved against her. With each stroke she almost seemed to disintegrate, shaking and clinging to his shoulders, small cries and gasps escaping her each time he pushed slowly into her. Her head was thrown back now, her fingers biting into him. It was the sexiest thing he had ever seen, and he was suddenly close to orgasm, willing himself to keep control, thankful for the slow pace. He could tell she was on the brink too, and he slowed still further, wanting to prolong her pleasure, withdrawing almost fully and then slowly, slowly sliding into her. Her breaths sounded like sobs now, her whole body shuddering as he moved into her. A few more slow thrusts, and she suddenly cried out, jerking violently against him, and he felt her muscles contact fiercely around him. She was gasping his name, and the sound of it and the feel of her clenching around him drove him over the edge too. He groaned, thrusting hard against her as he came, and she clung to him, her head buried in his shoulder now, her breath sobbing and ragged.

Strike came back down to earth first, and held her while she shuddered and gasped. “Shh,” he whispered tenderly, stroking her hair, and gradually her breathing eased. She looked up at him, shy, her eyes dazed.

“Where did that come from?” he asked gently, smiling, and she shook her head, awestruck. “No idea,” she said, shakily, “but oh, it was fantastic.” And she shuddered at the memory, aftershocks rippling though her, and Strike wrapped his arms around her, delighted to have brought her such pleasure.

He withdrew gently, eliciting another shudder from her, and pulled his clothing back into place. Robin just watched him. She felt boneless, limbs heavy, leaning back against the wall, still half lost in pleasure. “God, that was so good,” she sighed. “I can’t move.”

Smiling, he helped her to untangle her leggings and put them back on. She clung to him as he helped her down from the ledge, her legs wobbly, and he couldn’t help a soft laugh. She made a face at him.

“Oh, I’m not laughing at you,” he said tenderly. “God, it does my ego no end of good to have such an effect on you. I’m delighted.” He kissed her gently, and she sighed, leaning in to him.

“We have to find a way to replicate that at home,” she said, and he nodded. Did home mean London in general, he wondered, or had she just called his flat home? The thought made his heart swell. Arm around her, he held her steady while she slid her feet back into her shoes, and then they strolled out into the late afternoon haze.

They wandered along the beach for a while, arm in arm, but Robin could see that the shifting sand was hard going for Strike so she steered him back up to the path. “Back to the cottage,” she said, firmly. “I really, really need a cup of tea after that.”

They strolled back up to the cottage, where there was no sign of Nick and Ilsa. Half cups of tea sat abandoned and cold on the kitchen table. Strike filled the kettle. “You go and settlein the garden,” he told her. “I’ll bring you a cup of tea.”

Suddenly she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. “Thank you,” she murmured. “That was... fucking fantastic.”

He grinned down at her. “Happy to oblige,” he answered.

Once the tea was made, he carried the mugs out to the patio, and gave a soft laugh. Robin was stretched out on Ilsa’s blanket, already dozing, blissed out. He took the tea over, bending to put the cups on the steps down to the grass and then lowering himself down next to her. He put his arm over her in the warm sun, and she rolled towards him, nuzzling in to his chest automatically. Soon she was fast asleep, breathing deeply, her features soft with sleep and remembered pleasure, a half smile on her face, lit by the sun as it started to lower in the sky. Strike didn’t think she had ever looked more beautiful.

 


	10. Last Night

Before long, Nick and Ilsa appeared from upstairs, and Nick grinned when he saw them. Strike had managed to reach the crossword, and was propped up on one elbow, scowling at it while Robin slept next to him, loose-limbed, on the blanket.

“Good walk, then?” Nick asked, and Strike grinned back, nodding down at Robin’s sleeping form. “Seems to have done the trick,” he said, with a hint of smugness that he tried and failed to hide. The way she had responded to him, and now her total, boneless relaxation, was gratifying. He dropped a gentle hand onto her head to stroke her hair as she slept.

Ilsa appeared in the doorway with an open bottle of wine and two glasses. “Sun is definitely over the yard-arm,” she said. “You men on the wine or beer?” She glanced down at Strike and Robin and grinned. “I’ll just pour Robin’s and leave it over here, shall I?”

“Beer for me,” said Strike. “Pass me one, please, Nick?”

Robin woke at the sound of voices and blinked, disorientated for a moment. Strike smiled down at her. “Hey,” he said softly, and kissed her lips gently. Ilsa was struck once again by his openness. He had never been demonstrative with Charlotte in front of them.

Robin sat up. “Gosh, I was properly asleep,” she said, shaking her head. “What time is it?”

“Wine o’clock,” said Ilsa, passing her a glass. Robin grinned, then her cheeks turned a little pink as she remembered. She glanced shyly at Strike, who smiled at her.

“It’s our last night,” Ilsa went on. “What do we fancy doing?”

Nick had fetched two beers. He passed one to Strike. “Well, we can hang out here, or it’s the pub again,” he said.

“Let’s just get fish and chips again and veg out here,” said Robin. “I’m too lazy to go anywhere tonight.”

“Good plan,” said Strike. “I’ll fetch them. Are we hungry yet?”

“I could eat,” said Ilsa. “I’ll wander up with you.”

“I’ll assemble... well, just forks, if we’re going to eat out here,” said Nick.

Strike and Ilsa set off up the hill, chatting, and Robin hauled herself up to sit in a chair. Nick plonked himself in the chair opposite, his beer on the table between them, and grinned at her. “So you found the cave, then?”

“We did indeed,” said Robin, laughing. She leaned back in her chair, wine glass in hand. She felt incredible, floating, her body relaxed but still humming with remembered pleasure.

She looked curiously at Nick. “Did you really not know you were being introduced to all the local shagging spots?” she asked him, grinning.

“I didn’t ask,” he said. “I think I didn’t want to know!”

“I know,” Robin said. “It’s kind of weird to be down here for the first time, and Cormoran and Ilsa know it all so well.”

“Yeah,” Nick agreed. “You get used to it. I’ve been down here loads with Ilsa, obviously. There’s something magical about being from somewhere like this, or I guess like your town, rather than just a bit of London.”

“It’s great to know London, though,” said Robin. “I was quite nervous of it when I first moved down, it takes a bit of getting used to.”

“Never really thought of it like that,” said Nick.

There was a pause. Nick looked at his beer, and idly picked at the label. Robin, sensing he wanted to say something, waited, looking out over the trees towards the sea, sipping her wine.

“I’m glad Ilsa talked to you,” he said suddenly. “How is she? I mean, how did she seem? Sometimes I think she’s trying to hide how she feels a bit.”

Robin considered, her head tilted slightly to one side. “She didn’t say a lot, to be honest,” she said. “Just told me how the situation was. She did say she didn’t want to drag you down, too. She told you she’d talked to me?”

“Yeah, I asked,” he said. “I can tell when she’s been crying. I wish she wouldn’t try to hide it. I think she thinks she’s protecting me.”

There was another pause, and then Nick sighed. “I can’t fix it for her, Robin,” he said. “It’s one of those weird things in life, you know? I was raised by strong parents. My dad always said, if you put your mind to it, put the effort in, you can achieve anything. And he was right. I worked my arse off to get into and then through med school, worked to get the job I have now. I used to run seriously when I had more time, did the London Marathon a couple of times, and again it was just a case of being dedicated to the training and putting the hours in. I’ve always been able to achieve what I wanted, if I wanted it enough, through sheer hard work. But this...” he broke off and sighed again, frustration etched on his face. “Just waiting for something to happen isn’t my strong suit,” he said, shaking his head.

Robin reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “It must be so tough for you both,” she said, sadly. “I wish I could say something more helpful, but I can’t, really. No one can promise it’ll happen.”

“No,” he said. “And if it doesn’t, then it doesn’t. Ilsa is enough for me.”

He gazed out at the view. “I’m not sure she feels the same, though,” he said, quietly. Robin looked at him for a few moments.

“She didn’t say anything about that,” she said. “But if I had to guess, I’d say she does. You guys are so good together, and her main concern was for you. Hopefully it won’t come to that, though. You have time.”

“Yeah, I know,” Nick said, and smiled. “Sorry for bending your ear. I hope she keeps talking to you. A lot of the friends she used to hang out with have kids now, which makes it harder.”

“Well, she needn’t worry about that with me,” Robin laughed. “I’m a long way off that, if it even happens. Matthew was already talking about getting a house near a good school, it kind of freaked me out. I love the work Cormoran and I are doing. I can’t imagine giving it up. I’m even...” she paused.

“What?” Nick looked at her curiously.

“Well, I haven’t said anything to Cormoran,” Robin said slowly. “But if the business could spare me, if it was going well, I’d quite like to finish my degree. Maybe I could do it part time or something. I haven’t researched any options.”

“Plenty of universities in London, there must be something that would fit,” Nick mused. “Have you looked at the Open University?”

“I haven’t looked at anything,” Robin said. “I’ve only just started thinking about it. It might never happen. Now I’m working, it might be better to carry on learning on the job, studying surveillance and interview techniques and so on.”

“But I have plenty of time,” she continued. “I know it’s early days for me and Cormoran, for our relationship, but I could see us lasting. And I’m not sure he sees himself as a dad. Certainly not any time soon, if ever.”

“Do you want children?” Nick asked her directly.

“You know, a couple of years ago I would have said a definite yes,” she said. “But I think I just assumed I would have them. Matthew and I were going to be so conventional. Good jobs, an Audi, holidays, and eventually a house in the suburbs and kids. But now...” She thought for a moment. “I don’t not want them,” she said. “But I just don’t see how children would fit into what I’m doing right now, and I want to do what I’m doing now for a long time. So...”

“Plenty of time,” said Nick, smiling. They lapsed into silence, looking at the view.

“Oh, I’ve had such a great weekend,” Robin said. “Thanks for inviting us. It’s been lovely to get away from London and just spend some lazy time together. Back to the grind tomorrow. If I know Cormoran, he’s probably planning on going out on surveillance tomorrow night once we’re back. Redhead’s husband is keen for all the information we can supply.”

“And you of course won’t at all be straight into the office checking your emails,” said Nick, looking at her sideways, and Robin laughed and acknowledged his claim with a dip of her head. “You two are so alike,” he said, smiling fondly.

“We have chips!” Ilsa called, banging the cottage door. Nick jumped up to go and fetch the cutlery, and Robin went to refill the wine glasses.

Later, Robin would look back with fond memories of their last night in Cornwall. The conversation was inconsequential, but flowed freely. Snippets of stories told. A lively discussion between the men of the merits of their respective football teams. Ilsa regaling them with tales of a client of a colleague who had attempted to lie to a high court judge and been caught out by multiple pieces of evidence. Fish and chip papers spread across the table. The sun slowly sinking in the sky. Wine and beer giving way to mugs of tea, steaming in the cooling darkness. Strike’s eyes capturing hers across the table, reflected light from the kitchen sparkling in them as he smiled at her. And then later, much later, curling up in bed with him, her head on his chest, his strong arms around her, listening to his breathing settle into sleep. She lay for a long time in the darkness, content, listening to him breathe and marvelling at how they had reached this point.


End file.
